


fell in love with the fire long ago

by ace_verity



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DC Extended Universe
Genre: (oh my god they were driftmates), Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst, Drift Compatibility, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Romance, and they were driftmates, no prior knowledge of Pacific Rim required
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_verity/pseuds/ace_verity
Summary: After her mother's death, Dinah Lance left the Jaeger program and hasn't looked back — until Renee Montoya, Jaeger program Marshal, tells her of a new plan to defeat the Kaiju once and for all. Dinah's new copilot? Helena Bertinelli, a skilled fighter with a dark past.
Relationships: Dinah Lance & Renee Montoya, Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Comments: 40
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the idea goes to [stoveek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoveek/pseuds/stoveek), who suggested a PacRim AU for this pairing to me about... six weeks ago. I started writing almost immediately, and then coffeeshop AU took over my life briefly, and college slowed me down a bit - but now it's finally ready!
> 
> If you have never seen Pacific Rim, the basic concept is that the world is under periodic attack from giant monsters called Kaiju that opened an interdimensional portal in the Pacific Ocean and wreak havoc on coastal cities. To fight them, humanity created massive Jaegers, metal robots controlled by two pilots who are linked by a neural bridge. 
> 
> I played fast and loose with the PacRim plot and borrowed lines of dialogue from the movie once or twice, but either way this is more of a character-based story than a plot-based one. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Dinah should have seen it coming.

Renee Montoya, after all, has never been one to give up easily once she has an idea in her head. She’d been calling Dinah at least once a day, leaving the same message every time Dinah declined the call.

 _We need to talk. Call me_.

Dinah doesn’t call. She knows what Montoya wants, and Dinah sure as hell doesn’t want any part of it.

But Montoya is nothing if not persistent, which is why, when Dinah steps off the stage at the end of her set and heads for the bar, Montoya’s waiting for her, arms crossed and an empty glass at her elbow. 

“You’ve been blowing me off, Lance,” she says without preamble.

“Good to see you too, Montoya,” Dinah replies flatly, accepting the whiskey the bartender slides her with a nod of thanks. “Cut to the chase. You here to recruit me?”

Montoya purses her lips. “Listen, I get it. I understand that you’re reluctant —”

“ — bit of an understatement, there —”

“ — but it’s different this time. I’ve got some people together, we’ve got a plan. Hell, we’ve got —” She looks around, lowering her voice. “We’ve got a new Jaeger, Dinah. Most advanced one ever made. I really think, with you piloting —”

“You want me to _pilot?”_ Dinah laughs incredulously. “After everything that happened? That’s behind me. There’s a reason they cut funding to the Jaeger program.”

“You and I both know that was a mistake.” Montoya’s face hardens. “Those new coastal walls, they’re nothing to a Kaiju. Like fuckin’ _paper._ Won’t do a thing.”

Dinah drains the rest of her whiskey and runs a finger along the edge of the glass. “What do you want me to say? I went through hell, I got out, you’re telling me that I should jump back in?”

Montoya’s eyes are alight with intensity. “Dinah, your mother —”

“Is dead.” The familiar rage burns in Dinah’s chest, and she struggles to keep her voice level. “Don’t you remember? Your _program_ killed her, and it almost killed me too. Nearly sent me fuckin’ insane.” She shakes her head. “Forget it.” 

“Dinah —”

Dinah drops a bill on the bartop and turns away, heading for the door. 

“We have a way to close the breach,” Montoya calls after her, voice edged with desperation, and Dinah halts against her better judgment. 

“That’s impossible.”

“Not anymore.” Montoya’s got that gleam in her eyes that Dinah remembers from years ago, back when the world had faith in the Jaeger program and Montoya was the one taking the lead. “Take a seat.”

And against every rational thought in her mind that’s telling her to _leave,_ Dinah sits down.

\---

When Dinah reaches the base — six o'clock sharp the next night, just as Montoya had instructed — muscle memory takes over, guiding her through familiar corridors until she reaches the training room.

Montoya's waiting outside, arms crossed as she leans against the doorframe, and she straightens up when she catches sight of Dinah. "Good to see you,” Montoya says with a nod; she falls into step beside Dinah, tugging the door open. 

It’s an open space, bare of decoration or furniture — exactly how Dinah remembers it. Along the back wall, a group of military-types mill around; some of them, Dinah vaguely recognizes from her time as a pilot. Standing apart from the rest is a woman — tall, with dark hair cropped in short waves — who has her arms crossed, looking uncomfortable. 

“That’s Helena,” Montoya tells Dinah in an undertone, taking the lead and approaching her. 

Helena Bertinelli. Montoya had told Dinah all about her the previous evening — _hell of a fighter_ , she had said, _but she’s never been drift-compatible with anyone. Devotes everything to the cause, but can’t join the fight._

Helena sees them approaching and straightens up. “Marshal,” she greets Montoya with a nod, then turns to Dinah. Her gaze is piercing and outwardly clinical, but there’s a spark of something beneath the veneer — curiosity, and, Dinah thinks, hope. 

“Helena, meet Dinah Lance. Dinah, this is Helena Bertinelli.” Montoya looks between them. “You up for your trial?”

“Right now?” Dinah can’t conceal the surprise in her tone. Usually, potential partners at least have the chance to talk a bit before the spar test — evidently, things have changed. Already, the other observers are turning their focus on Dinah and Helena, falling silent. 

“We’re a bit low on time,” Montoya answers dryly. She takes a pair of rods from one of the observers and hands one to Dinah, the other to Helena. Then Montoya backs off to the side to give them space and raises her voice so that it echoes against the walls, saying, “This isn’t a fight, it’s a dialogue. Compatibility is your goal, not victory.” She nods at them. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Helena, it seems, is ready. She nods at Dinah and drops into a fighting position, angled carefully with her rod raised. Dinah follows suit, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She hasn’t done a trial in years — even then, it was only as a formality; everyone had known that she’d drift with her mother. 

This time, it’s serious. 

Dinah makes the first move, stepping forward and twirling the rod, and Helena does the same. Dinah can feel the adrenaline pulsing through her as the rhythm of sparring comes back clear as day. They circle each other for a moment, eyes locked and anticipation building, and then Helena darts forward too quickly for Dinah to block her.

“One - zero,” Helena says. A fierce little grin is creeping across her face — gone is the woman of a few minutes prior, who was reticent and cautious. Helena, Dinah realizes, has a hell of a lot more to her than Dinah had initially realized.

She can work with that. 

Dinah takes advantage of Helena’s moment of pride to turn on her heel, ducking and sweeping her rod upward. “One - one,” she corrects Helena, whose eyes gleam wide and dark.

All bets are off, after that. They parry, moving in a graceful dance around each other, with a speed and ferocity that makes Dinah’s heart pound. Whenever Dinah scores a point, Helena makes up the difference within seconds, her movements fluid and yet precise.

Montoya was right — Helena is a hell of a fighter. 

There’s something intrinsically _right_ about it. Dinah tends to fall back on the martial arts training she’d received years ago, at the start of her pilot training, and it balances with Helena’s almost-choreographed precision. 

In the end, Helena wins; she knocks Dinah’s legs out from under her and stands over her triumphantly, the tip of her rod poised at Dinah’s neck. Applause rings out, echoing against the bare walls, and Helena lets the rod fall to her side and extends a hand to Dinah, who grasps it and pulls herself upright.

“Gotta say, I’m pretty damn impressed,” Dinah says in an undertone to Helena once she’s standing, and Helena grins in a way that’s hesitantly proud, raking a hand through her hair. Dinah lets her gaze linger on Helena for perhaps a bit longer than strictly necessary before turning her attention back to Montoya, who’s approaching the pair of them.

“Well done, you two,” she says, trying to sound authoritative despite her obvious pleasure. “I think you’ll make a great team.” Montoya looks between them, then asks, “What do you say?”

“Sure, yeah,” Helena says immediately, then clears her throat and glances at Dinah. “I mean, as long as…”

“I’m in,” Dinah says firmly, and this time Montoya doesn’t try to conceal her excitement.

“Thank Christ,” she says fervently, then raises her voice. “Meet the pilots of our new Mark-V!”

The announcement is greeted with cheers and renewed applause, and when Dinah glances sideways at Helena to gauge her reaction, she finds Helena looking awestruck. The sight puts a smile on Dinah’s face, one that lingers for the rest of the night.

\---

Dinah moves back to the Shatterdome the next day. It’s not hard — she’s only been living off base for a little over two years now, and she hadn’t had much time or desire to accumulate many possessions in that time. Her quarters are right next to Helena’s, and between that and training, it seems they’re always together. 

Not that Dinah is complaining. 

For a trained fighter, Helena turns out to be one of the most awkward people Dinah’s ever met. Pop culture references go over her head; she fumbles her way through compliments and alternates between blunt honesty and dorky confusion. But she’s hilarious in her own way, and whenever she makes Dinah laugh, Helena looks both startled and deeply pleased.

Dinah’s been on her own for a long time, but as she readjusts to the companionship of having a partner, she remembers how much she loves that connection — and there’s a connection for sure, even though they haven’t drifted together yet. 

So during the day they train or go over mission strategies or Jaeger schematics, and in the evenings they eat dinner at the base cafeteria, sometimes just the two of them but more often joined by Harley, one of the scientists working with the Jaeger initiative, as well as Montoya and Montoya’s adopted daughter Cass, who likes to hang out in Harley’s lab or cheer Helena and Dinah on as they train.

But no amount of shared laughter and camaraderie can cover the current of tension that hangs over the base. Everyone’s on edge, waiting for an attack; grim statistics are reported like baseball stats and met with clenched jaws and tired eyes. The war clock in the center of the base ticks ever-upward, and as the number of days since the last attack climbs higher, the sense of anxiety pervading the base deepens. 

The first major attack comes nearly two weeks after Dinah moves back to the base. She wakes to the wail of alarms echoing throughout the halls and pulls on her uniform in the dark, cursing when she stubs her toe on the bedpost and stumbling into the hall. Helena emerges from her room at the same time, hair mussed from sleep. Ordinarily, Dinah would tease her, but not now. One glance is all it takes to spur them both into action; they join the growing stream of cadets moving to the central hall to receive orders. 

Nobody speaks; they stand at attention, faces lit by the flashing emergency lights, and when Dinah glances over at Helena, she sees fear and determination writ in equal measure on her face. When Montoya moves to stand at the front of the hall, everyone tenses, ready for orders, but Dinah can see the defeat on Montoya’s face even before she begins to speak, and she knows that no orders are coming.

It’s too late to step in — the Kaiju had attacked Sydney, and by the time it had been killed, the damage had already been done. 

“Damage reports are still coming in,” Montoya tells them. “Ten percent of the city is completely decimated. Most civilians evacuated, thank God, but the death toll is projected in the hundreds, if not thousands.”

Beside Dinah, Helena is very, very still. Dinah can hear the quiet whirring from the war clock as it resets — 00:00:00 since the last attack.

“Nothing we could have done.” Montoya looks out at the assembly; even in her exhaustion, her eyes are flinty. “Get some rest before training tomorrow. Dismissed.”

Behind her, a news broadcast flickers on a screen on the wall, showing blurred footage of crumbled buildings interspersed with commentary by the anchors. The sight makes something bitter rise in Dinah’s throat, and she has to look away, swallowing hard.

The crowd is dispersing around them, but Helena shows no signs of moving; she’s rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the broadcast.

“Hey.” Dinah touches her elbow. “You ready?”

“What?” Helena tears her eyes away with a shake of her head. “Yeah, I am.”

“Alright.” Dinah studies her briefly, noting the way Helena’s hands form fists at her side, knuckles white with tension, and the way her eyes skip around the room — her gaze, usually thoughtful and intent, is unfocused, and there’s a coldness there that Dinah’s never seen before. 

Even once she’s back in bed, Dinah lies awake, staring at the ceiling as the phantom wail of sirens echoes in the silence, and when she finally falls asleep again, her dreams are sick, fearful things that slide from her memory like oil when she wakes.

Breakfast is a subdued affair; even Harley is uncharacteristically quiet. Helena is nowhere in sight.

Dinah eats quickly, not especially hungry, and stows an extra bagel in her bag. She has time before training, and the knot of anxiety in the pit of her stomach is telling her to _find Helena,_ so first she goes back to the living quarters.

“Helena?” she calls, knocking on her door. “It’s Dinah. You alright?”

Nothing. _Shit._ Dinah’s tired enough as it is; the last thing she wants to do is go on a wild goose chase for her partner, but she doesn’t have much of a choice. Besides, she’s committed at this point, so she may as well keep looking. 

The bathrooms are empty, as are the lounge and the study, but there’s one last place Dinah didn’t check.

The sound of fists hitting leather echoes down the hall, and Dinah rounds the corner to see Helena beating the living hell out of a punching bag. She can’t figure out whether to be relieved or angry or something else entirely, because Helena moves with a graceful ferocity that takes Dinah’s breath away and distracts her momentarily from her goal — not for long, though.

“Hey!” Dinah crosses the room, but Helena barely spares her a glance. Up close, Dinah can see that Helena’s hair is plastered back with sweat, her cheeks flushed bright with exertion, and she wonders how long Helena’s been down here.

“You look like shit,” Dinah states plainly, and Helena’s eyes flash briefly to meet hers — Dinah almost recoils, because the cold rage she’d seen hours before is even fiercer now — before she huffs and lands another punch on the bag. 

“I’m fine.”

Dinah scoffs. “Like hell. You need to get your ass in the shower, else Montoya will ream you out for being late.”

Helena ignores her, and Dinah’s getting steadily more pissed by the minute. “How long have you been down here, huh? What is it, you got anger issues or something? That ain’t gonna fly when we’re drifting, you know.”

“I do _not_ have anger issues,” Helena grits out, her voice rising.

“Could have fooled me. You think this is gonna put those buildings back in one piece? Think it’s gonna bring those people back? That’s not how it works —”

 _“I know that!”_ Helena whirls on her, eyes flashing, and Dinah instantly knows that she’s gone a step too far.

“Look, I get it. I’ve been there.” She eyes Helena warily and adds, “You have to take care of yourself, alright? The only shot we have at stopping this is if we bring our A-game, and that means no more punishing yourself for shit you couldn’t have stopped.”

The fight has drained out of Helena, and Dinah steps forward and eases the glove and wrappings off Helena’s right hand, wincing at the sight of the bruised knuckles underneath. “Jesus.” She looks up, but Helena’s avoiding her gaze. “You need to ice these. I can cover for you with Montoya, but —”

“No.” Helena still isn’t looking at her, but her voice is at least semi-normal again. Helena clears her throat and adds, “I’ll take care of it.”

“Alright, fine.” Dinah’s not going to waste time trying to change her mind, so she finishes with, “Better hurry. Training starts in a half hour. And here.” She fishes the bagel out of her bag and tosses it at Helena, who catches it on reflex and finally looks at Dinah. “Breakfast.”

She turns on her heel, but before she’s through the door, Dinah hears Helena murmur, “Thanks.”

“That’s what partners are for,” Dinah calls back, chancing a glance over her shoulder to see Helena watching her leave, bagel in one bruised hand.

True to her word, Helena walks into the training room two minutes before they’re due to start, joining Dinah where she’s warming up. 

“How’s your hand?” Dinah asks in an undertone.

“What?” Helena blinks and stammers, “Oh, fine. It’s fine.”

“Really?” Dinah can’t keep the skepticism from creeping into her voice. “Let me see.” She reaches out, but Helena flinches back.

“Whoa.” Dinah draws away, hands raised. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Helena repeats, but she won’t meet Dinah’s eyes.

“Yeah, I’m not buying it.” Dinah crosses her arms. “Listen, if something’s up, you can tell me. If we don’t trust each other, this ain’t gonna work. Our first drift is in three days —”

“I don’t think I can do it.”

Dinah stares at her, shocked. “What the hell are you talking about? Helena —”

But the sound of Montoya clearing her throat cuts Dinah’s words short. “Listen up, you two.”

Dinah casts one last look at Helena, whose gaze is fixed steadily ahead, before turning her attention to Montoya.

“Change of plans.” Montoya looks every bit as worn out as Dinah feels; she’s willing to bet that nobody on base got any sleep last night. “After the attack last night, there’s no time to waste. Your first drift was scheduled for Thursday, but it got moved up.”

“To when?” It’s Helena who asks, her tone flat.

Montoya makes a show of checking her watch. “One hour from now.”

“An _hour?”_ Dinah laughs, stunned. “Montoya, you gotta give us more time than that.” 

“Not my call.” Montoya purses her lips. “Higher-ups want to know if you two actually have a shot.” She smiles, but there’s no humor in it. “No pressure. I want you both in the lab ASAP. See you there.”

As soon as Montoya’s gone, Dinah rounds on Helena. “You need to tell me right now if you’re not up for this.” 

“You heard Montoya. No time to waste.” Helena’s voice is just as flat and affectless as it had been a moment earlier, and she finally meets Dinah’s eyes. Her gaze is blank, too, but under the surface, Dinah sees an undercurrent of trepidation.

She’s scared.

Dinah can’t blame her — the first time she had drifted with her mother, Dinah had been so nervous beforehand that she’d thought her heart would beat out of her chest. But her mother had been cool as anything, had simply winked at Dinah and said, _You got this, baby. It’s just me._

And that had been enough.

Dinah doesn’t have her mother’s talent for always knowing just what to say, but she tries anyway.

“Hey.” She reaches out and rests her hand on Helena's arm, and this time, Helena doesn’t pull away. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Helena’s voice is low, but there’s no hesitation in her answer.

“And I trust you.” Dinah smiles. “Simple as that. Alright?”

Helena nods and smiles back — just a tiny bit, but it’s enough for Dinah.

They don’t waste any time getting to the lab; Dinah knows from experience that it’s best to be early before a drift test to minimize nervousness and to get familiar with the tech. It’s not like they haven’t seen their Jaeger before, but now that it’s finished — and now that it’s about to be _theirs_ — seeing it takes Dinah’s breath away, and she’s pretty sure Helena reacts the same way. 

The lab is filled with scientists milling about, clad in white coats and carrying clipboards, and at the center console, Harley stands next to Montoya. She smiles brightly when she sees Dinah and Helena walk in and practically skips across the floor to meet them.

“Ready, ladies?” Harley doesn’t wait for an answer, continuing cheerfully, “‘Course you are, you’ll be great. Don’t sweat it, ‘kay? It’s just a test run, no big deal.”

“Sure,” Dinah says doubtfully, and next to her, Helena lets out a brief, humorless laugh. 

“Just keep your mind clear and you’ll be golden.” Harley punctuates her statement by cheerfully tapping them each in turn on the forehead. “No distractions, you hear? No matter what you see in each other’s thoughts.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, and Dinah rolls her eyes.

“Lay off, Harley, we know the drill.”

“Suit yourself.” Harley shrugs and grins brightly. “Good luck!”

Harley’s words stick uncomfortably in Dinah’s mind as they prepare for the drift. Dinah’s never told Helena about her mother’s death, and even though Helena probably knows from word-of-mouth or just plain inference, Dinah wonders now if she should have brought it up — that would be the kind of distraction that could send them rabbiting through memories, which is the last thing either of them need.

“Remember, don’t chase the rabbit,” Montoya tells them both as they suit up. “Let the memories drift by, like scenery through a car window; don’t get caught up.”

They nod, and Montoya nods back. “Good luck. No pressure.” She squeezes Dinah’s shoulder as she passes and says, quietly enough that only Dinah can hear, “She’d be proud of you, Dinah.”

Dinah doesn’t need to ask who she’s talking about, and before she can respond, Montoya’s gone. The display flickers to life in front of them, and Dinah barely has time to cast a glance at Helena before their helmets click into place. Helena’s already poised in a fighting stance, and even through the glass faceplate, Dinah can see the determined set of her face.

 _That’s my girl,_ Dinah thinks, the thought unbidden and unfamiliar, and she quickly clears her throat and faces front as Montoya’s voice rings out through the comms.

_“Commencing neural handshake in three — two — one.”_

And just like that, Dinah’s hurtling through a storm of images, all tinged an ethereal shade of blue — she sees herself as a little girl, walking hand-in-hand with her mother; she sees a dark-haired girl in a white dress posing between a man and a woman and knows automatically that she’s looking at Helena and her parents. The images come almost too fast to discern, and Dinah knows better than to try and focus, letting them pass by, clearing her mind. She thinks that they’re almost out of the woods, and even as the memories flicker in her mind’s eye, Dinah manages to gauge her physical surroundings once more. Helena’s eyes are closed, her face blank, and her arms move in tandem with Dinah’s to raise the Jaeger’s arms to cross over its massive metal hull. 

But then the scene changes, and it’s no longer Helena that Dinah sees but rather Dinah’s own mother. She calls out something incomprehensible, but the terror on her face is clear, and Dinah’s blood runs cold as she watches the Kaiju tears through the metal hull, taking Dinah’s mother in its grasp and leaving a gaping hole in the cockpit.

Dinah stares, unable to think or move or breathe, her eyes stinging, until the wail of alarms jolts her back to awareness.

 _“Dinah, you’re out of alignment.”_ Montoya’s voice is urgent over the comms, jolting her back to awareness.

“I’m okay, I’m fine.” Dinah takes a deep breath. “It’s under control.”

_“You’re stable now, but Helena’s way out. She’s chasing the rabbit, Dinah.”_

Dinah curses. “Helena.” She keeps her voice level. “Helena, listen to me. Stay with me, alright?”

Helena doesn’t respond, her eyes fixed forward and her body rigid.

“Montoya, I can get her out.”

_“Too risky, Dinah —”_

“I can do it,” she insists, and plunges forward.

The neural interface is twisted and maze-like, but Dinah can sense Helena’s consciousness as a strange, warm presence deep within and lets it draw her in, past flickers of memory: Helena in the Shatterdome base, face drawn with exertion as she trains; Helena as a teenager, sitting at a desk and frowning at a textbook; Helena as a little girl, carefully holding a baby — _Pino,_ Dinah thinks, even though she’s never heard the name aloud; Helena smiling, an uncharacteristic lightness in her eyes as she looks across a table at someone — _who?_

And then the images settle into coherence, and Dinah sees —

_Helena’s in the car with Sal, backpack on the seat next to her. She’s chattering about her day, and Sal laughs at something she says. She smiles, encouraged, and makes another joke, but Sal isn’t paying attention — he turns the radio up, a frown crossing his face, and suddenly the air is broken by the sound of wailing sirens and shrieking metal and screams. The car isn’t moving anymore, and Helena pushes the door open; they’re only a block from home, and she runs, ignoring Sal calling after her and the crowds of people running past her in the opposite direction, almost trampling her. She’s close, coming up the driveway now to see her home, her home with a beautiful view of the ocean, her home where Mama and Papa and Pino are waiting. She can see them, running out the door toward her; her papa has Pino in his arms and her mama is calling to her, and Helena runs to meet them —_

_But something massive and gray and hideous erupts from the sea, and in the blink of an eye the world falls to pieces. Her home is gone, and her family too, and Helena’s frozen to the spot for a long moment before she’s running, as fast as her legs can carry her, down the driveway into the city, past crumbling buildings, through empty streets. Her chest burns, and her face is wet even though she doesn’t remember starting to cry, and finally she skids into an alley and curls up in a corner. She’ll be safe here, she’ll hide and be safe —_

“Helena.” Dinah steps forward, cautiously approaching the little girl — no more than ten years old, dressed in a plaid school uniform, face stained with tears and dirt, but unmistakably Helena. “This isn’t real.”

Helena doesn’t seem to see her, just wipes her face with a grimy hand and hiccups a sob. A roar from high above startles them both; the ground shakes, trembling under massive footfalls, and a huge, hulking shape looms at the end of the alley.

They’re running out of time.

“Helena, listen to me!”

The Kaiju moves closer, and Helena stumbles back and raises one arm. Through the link, Dinah can sense the Jaeger mimicking the gesture, and she’s vaguely aware of panicked yells over the comms — the lab is right in the line of fire. 

“Helena, it’s just a memory.” Dinah can only hope that Montoya’s working on getting them offline; otherwise, the whole base will be blown apart. “Helena, _please.”_

A low drone fills the air, and this time, when Dinah looks up, she feels relief. It’s a Jaeger moving overhead, a Mark-I, and it’s enough to distract the Kaiju that had set its sights on Helena. 

_“Disengaged,”_ the system voice intones, and Dinah finds herself back in the cockpit of the Jaeger, safe in the Shatterdome. Helena’s arm is still raised, and Dinah fumbles with her gear, pulling herself free of the harness and barely making it in time to catch Helena before she slumps to the ground.

Dinah yanks Helena’s helmet free and kneels beside her, pulling Helena into her arms. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dinah tells her, noting the way Helena’s gaze drifts unfocused, as if she’s lost in memory still. “I’m here. You’ll be alright.”

Helena doesn’t respond, just drops her head against the crook of Dinah’s elbow, and Dinah holds her and breathes out a shaky breath.

\---

“This isn’t going to work, Dinah.”

“Montoya, that was our first drift. What the hell do you expect?”

Montoya scoffs. “Well, I sure as shit didn’t anticipate nearly getting blown up.”

“That wasn’t —” Dinah exhales, trying to keep her voice level. “She didn’t intend —”

“I know _she didn’t intend,_ but for God’s sake, if that happened out there, I’d be pulling you both out of the ocean. Think I want that?”

Dinah laughs, humorless and bordering on hysterical. “You’re the one who dragged me into this, now you’re _concerned for my safety?_ Shit, Montoya, make up your mind.”

Montoya runs a hand through her hair, agitated. “I’ll find you a different partner, someone with more experience, we’ll go from there.”

“I don’t _want_ another partner.” As soon as Dinah says it, she realizes just how much she means it. “I watched my mother _die,_ and I told myself I was done. Coming back was hard enough. I’m not going through it again.” Helena is the first person that Dinah’s let herself trust since her mother’s death; she’d spent years closed off, and Dinah knows she won’t be able to trust anyone else like that so soon. 

“You’re our best shot, Dinah.”

“I know.” She tilts her head, challenging. “But I’m with her. You want to cut her, fine. But you’d lose me too.”

Montoya holds her gaze for a long moment, then finally looks down, shaking her head. “I should have known you’d be just as goddamned stubborn as your mother.”

“Runs in the family.”

Montoya smiles at that, but it fades quickly. “The top brass won’t be nearly as soft as I am, Dinah. No room for error anymore.”

“I know.” Dinah smirks, just a tiny bit, even though she feels no humor at the thought. “No pressure, right?”

\---

Dinah knocks on Helena’s door later that evening, waiting for Helena’s quiet “come in” before turning the knob. As she enters, she spots Helena in the far corner, finishing a set of pull-ups — as if Dinah needed anything else on her mind. 

“Hey,” Dinah greets her as Helena drops back to the floor, pulling one arm across her chest to stretch the muscle. “How are you feeling?”

Helena shrugs. “Fine. Headache, but aside from that…”

“First drift is always rough,” Dinah says sympathetically, and Helena looks at her for a moment before looking away, shaking her head as an ironic grin tugs at her mouth.

“What?”

“You don’t have to do this, Dinah.” Helena meets her eyes again, her gaze bitter and tired. 

“Do what?” Dinah stares at her, confused.

“Be all —” She huffs, raking a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. I fucked up, alright? I thought I could handle this, but I can’t.” Her voice goes quiet. “You’re the best pilot there is, Dinah, you deserve a better partner.”

“Oh yeah?” Dinah crosses her arms. “Well, fuck that.”

That gets Helena’s attention.

“I mean it,” Dinah tells her. “Fuck that. I don’t want a _better partner,_ I want you.”

“Dinah —”

“No, listen to me.” Dinah crosses the room until they’re practically toe-to-toe. “Helena, what happened today, that’s almost inevitable. We’re all on edge, alright? Now you know what not to do, and next time will be better.”

“There won’t be a next time.” Helena shakes her head, but Dinah knows her now — can see that she’s trying not to let herself have hope. “They’re going to cut me from the program. This was my only shot —”

“That’s not happening.”

“Yes, they _can,_ they’ll pull rank —”

“I mean it,” Dinah interrupts. “I talked to Montoya afterwards, convinced her to give us another chance.”

Helena studies her for any sign of deception, and when she doesn’t find any, her eyes go wide. “How the hell did you manage that?” 

“I told her that she could either have both of us or neither. She chose both.” Dinah grins. “Simple as that.”

Helena shakes her head, but she’s smiling too. “You’re… wow.”

“I’m what?”

“Amazing,” Helena answers, and the honesty in her voice makes Dinah shiver. The look on her face is familiar, somehow, but Dinah can’t remember for the life of her why that is.

“You’re pretty great yourself, H,” Dinah tells her, punching her lightly on the shoulder. “You know what this means, right?”

Helena shakes her head, brow knitting in curiosity. “What?”

“We’ve got a Jaeger to name.” Dinah watches as realization dawns over Helena’s face.

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Damn right I do. Better get to thinking, Helena.” Dinah heads for the door, then pauses and adds, “It’s a team effort, you know.”

Helena nods, but her eyes are bright, and Dinah lets herself out.

As she lies in bed that night, her mind keeps returning to that look on Helena’s face, trying to recall where she’d seen it before.

And then it hits her. Dinah had seen it through the drift: _Helena smiling, an uncharacteristic lightness in her eyes as she looks across a table at someone — who?_

Oh. 

_Oh._


	2. Chapter 2

Dinah remembers it, now.

It had been one of her first nights back on base. She’d spent all day training — running through simulations in the morning and working out for most of the afternoon, leaving her with barely enough time to shower before dinner. Dinah had been exhausted, both mentally and physically, and she’d briefly considered taking food back to her room — but then Harley had spotted her across the dining hall and waved enthusiastically, motioning for her to sit down, and Dinah hadn’t had much of a choice. 

She’d slid onto the bench next to Harley, nodding hello to Helena, who had been sitting across the table and who had looked profoundly relieved to see Dinah joining them. 

“Yeesh, Dinah, you look awful!” Harley squinted at her critically, then swiped a bite of pasta off Dinah’s tray.

“Gee, thanks,” Dinah muttered, blocking Harley’s second attempt to steal a bite. “You’re a menace, you know that? Eat your own damn food.”

“Aw, you love me. Hey, Bertinelli, you gonna eat that?”

Dinah rolled her eyes. “Really, Harley?” She’d noticed Helena frowning down at her tray and added, “Hey, what’s wrong? Not hungry?”

Helena glanced up as if caught out. “No, no — I’m fine.” As if to prove it, she took a bite of the pasta and tried to conceal a wince.

“She’s just a snob,” Harley explained. 

“I’m _not_ a snob.”

“Grew up in Sicily. Now she insists that this isn’t real pasta.”

“Well, it’s not,” Helena muttered, stabbing irritably at her tray and glancing up to see Dinah trying not to smirk. “It isn’t!”

Harley raised her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, we get it.”

Dinah was genuinely curious at this point, so she elbowed Harley in the side and asked Helena, “Why not?”

Helena looked at her for a moment as if trying to judge if Dinah was making fun of her, then explained, “I grew up eating homemade pasta. This boxed stuff tastes like cardboard to me.”

“Huh.” Dinah shrugged. “Makes sense. I can see why you wouldn't like it.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.” 

“Thank you,” Helena said, completely serious, and Dinah nodded.

“Well, I still think you’re a snob,” Harley broke in, words muffled by a mouthful of pasta.

“Don’t listen to her, H,” Dinah reassured Helena. “Harley’s practically a human garbage disposal. Yesterday I saw her at breakfast eating eggs, potatoes, and cereal out of the same bowl. With milk for the cereal and ketchup for the potatoes. Fucking disgusting.” 

“Efficient, though! Fewer dishes — I’m trying to be more environmentally conscious, you know,” Harley pointed out, undeterred, and Dinah caught Helena’s eye and grinned at her. Helena smiled back, tentatively at first, and Dinah had turned to tease Harley more — it was quickly becoming her favorite form of entertainment — and out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen Helena watching. 

Watching _her,_ Dinah realizes now, recalling from the drift the sight of _Helena smiling, an uncharacteristic lightness in her eyes as she looks across a table at someone — who?_

Dinah knows that look, the look of awe and happiness she’d seen in Helena’s memories in the drift —

Because it’s how Helena looks at her.

_Oh._

Dinah’s breath catches in her throat at the realization, and she lies awake for an eternity, replaying the memory in her head until it’s the last thing she thinks of before sleep finally claims her.

\---

Their second chance at drifting comes two days later, and before they part ways to suit up, Dinah catches Helena’s hand. 

“Hey,” she says, and hesitates. There’s a million things she could say, words of encouragement and confidence and bravado, but instead she just tells Helena, “You and me. Simple as that, right? Just like sparring.” 

“Simple as that,” Helena repeats, and any anxiety that might have been in her eyes dissipates like smoke. She squeezes Dinah’s hand before letting go, and as they take their places in the cockpit, Dinah wills her mind to clear.

This time, there’s little excitement or fanfare from the crew and scientists; everyone is waiting, tense and anxious as if expecting another near-death experience. But Dinah knows that they have nothing to fear; there’s a deep, settled peace inside her, unshakable. 

_“Commencing neural handshake in three — two — one.”_

This time, it’s not like hurtling at all — it’s like slipping into cool water, not unpleasant, but enough to sharpen every sensation. _Handshake_ really is the best word for it; Dinah feels Helena’s consciousness molding against hers in a perfect fit, a grounding warmth that draws Dinah like a magnet, like a lifeline. Images flicker past, but not nearly as chaotic as before, and when a familiar scene appears — Helena running through broken gray streets in torn school clothes — it passes by like all the rest. 

_“Neural handshake engaged,”_ comes the voice of the Jaeger's computer. _“Right hemisphere calibrated. Left hemisphere calibrated. Ready to activate the Jaeger.”_

And then they’re moving as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. They’re one body, one mind, and there’s no world outside this one that they’ve created. Drills and maneuvers go seamlessly, and Dinah remembers the _joy_ of the drift, the security and intimacy it brings. The commands and controls are ingrained deep in her muscle memory, coming back to her easily, as if she’d never stopped piloting at all. 

And drifting with Helena is different, in a way that’s hard to quantify. Dinah had been told growing up how alike she was to her mother, even to the point of sharing a first name, but she had never fully grasped their similarity until they had drifted together. Dinah had learned quickly that they shared more than just mannerisms and personality; their very thoughts had seemed to echo, mirroring through the neural link with a near-unsettling likeness, and their minds worked in sync. She’d expected the drift to be strange, and it had been — like seeing her own mind reflected back at her, consciousnesses blended until Dinah could scarcely separate her own thoughts and impulses from those of her mother.

Strange, yes, but it had been incredible too, and when her mother was torn away from her — it had been like half of herself was gone in the blink of an eye, the agony of it multiplied a hundredfold by the strain of piloting the battered Jaeger alone.

Dinah had been drift-compatible with her mother because of their similarity, but she thinks that her compatibility with Helena might be for the opposite reason. It should be jarring, because Helena seems to somehow _think_ differently, on an intrinsic level — less in words, more in images and impulses that flood out in a rapid, intense stream.

The best way that Dinah can conceptualize it is this: the drift between her mind and her mother’s had been a sort of overlay, like hands pressed flat, palms together — fitting because of their shared shape. Drifting with Helena is like puzzle pieces slotting into place, or gears interlocking. Somehow, against all odds, their jagged edges are a perfect match.

And for a rookie, Helena is a damn good pilot. Her movements sync flawlessly with Dinah’s, matching her rhythms, and she’s laser-focused on every task, obeying Dinah’s commands with clipped, efficient confirmations.

Dinah’s not aware of time — an hour could have passed, or ten minutes, but she’d been drawn into the motions too completely to notice; eventually, though, the cool voice of the computer breaks into her consciousness: _“Return to initial position.”_

Dinah relaxes her arms, letting the Jaeger return to its resting form, and the automated voice says with finality, _“Drift sequence successful. Exiting neural handshake.”_

There’s a frisson of something — sadness, or regret — that passes through the connection an instant before it lifts. Dinah doesn’t know whose mind it originated from, but she feels it too — as soon as the drift ends, there’s an immediate sense of loss as Helena’s mind pulls away from her own. The feeling doesn’t last long, though, because a chorus of voices, Harley’s and Montoya’s the loudest among them, sound in the comms — sheer joy, and relief, because the drift was a massive success. 

Dinah pulls her helmet off and disengages from the tangle of wires, and when she’s free, Helena’s already there; her hair is wildly disheveled from the helmet, but her eyes are lit up. 

“We did it?” she asks, as if hardly daring to believe, and Dinah beams at her.

“Damn right we did it,” she confirms. “See? Simple as that.”

Helena grins in response, and Dinah doesn’t know who moves first — not that it matters, really, and with the residual bond created by drifting, it’s quite likely that it was synchronous — but they find themselves embracing each other, as tightly as they can through the thick plating of their suits. 

“That was incredible,” Helena finally says when they part, her eyes still wide with wonder, and Dinah laughs and affectionately runs her fingers through a particularly messy bit of Helena’s hair.

“Sure was,” she agrees, and her voice is soft. Dinah knows even before it happens what’s coming next, can feel the soft pulse of desire echoing in her mind — but before she can move any closer, Montoya’s voice comes over the comms and calls them out of the Jaeger, and the moment is broken. Helena casts her eyes downward, clearing her throat and stepping back as Dinah holds in a sigh and returns to her position, engaging the lift that will take them back out into the open air.

“Fuckin’ incredible,” Montoya tells them, shaking her head in amazement, once they’ve joined her and Harley on the observation deck. “Let’s go. I got an announcement to make.”

“She’s right,” Harley adds, keeping pace with Dinah as they follow Montoya to the ground level of the Jaeger bay, where it seems most of the base has assembled in anticipation. “You two were amazing — naturals, I’ll tell ya. You’re gonna kick Kaiju ass, I just know it!”

“Thanks, Harley,” Dinah replies, tone colored by amusement, and her fingers brush lightly against Helena’s as they walk side-by-side. 

Montoya leads them to the front of the crowd, motioning to join her at the makeshift platform there. “Let’s hear it for the pilots of the _Crossbow Canary!”_

The crowd erupts, and Dinah’s hand reaches for Helena’s, holding tight and lifting it in victory. She can feel Helena’s pulse under her fingertips, and the world narrows to that: their heartbeats, beating in tandem, steady and grounding and somehow drowning out the noise of the crowd. 

\---

After the success of the drift, Montoya keeps them so busy that Dinah doesn’t have any time to dwell on the tense, breathless moment she’d shared with Helena, when she’d thought _this is it_ and let herself lean in before Montoya’s orders over the comms had forced them apart. They don’t talk about it, but in a way, they don’t have to — Dinah knows, from the way Helena looks at her like they’re the only ones in the room even when they’re surrounded by others, from the way she herself smiles at Helena across the table in the dining hall and feels something unfolding in her chest. But most of all, from the lingering imprint of Helena’s mind on hers, the intimacy of shared consciousness that never really dissipates even when the neural handshake disengages. 

They’re both waiting, but for what — Dinah doesn’t know. It’s not like that sort of relationship is uncommon on the base — when humanity is on the precipice of apocalypse day in and day out, the people fighting on the front lines inevitably need something, or more accurately _someone,_ to keep them grounded to some semblance of normal life. It doesn’t make logical sense to wait, either; any pilot knows that planning on a future, putting things off till tomorrow, is unwise when the alarms could call them to battle at any moment, night or day.

A week passes, a week of tension and that sly, elusive _something_ that’s nameless and unspoken, and by the end of it Dinah’s ready to catch fire. They spar again the morning of the seventh day since their successful drift, and even through the bland drape of base-issued workout clothes, the lines of Helena’s muscles are clear enough to drive Dinah nearly to distraction. She grits her teeth through the fire that’s coursing through her veins, and the match is more intense than ever before. Their movements are fluid, a push-and-pull dance that’s weighted with something _more,_ and every brush of skin crackles electric. It catches Dinah off guard every time, until she feels heady and unbalanced in the fight, and maybe that’s why Helena eventually gets the upper hand. With a movement that’s almost too swift for Dinah to register, Helena sweeps Dinah’s legs out from under her, knocking the wind out of her as she lands back on the mats. Before Dinah can catch her breath, Helena twists gracefully until she’s straddling Dinah’s hips and holding the rod against the hollow beneath Dinah’s throat. 

“I win,” Helena pants out, her smile bright and fierce, and Dinah wants nothing more than to tug her down and kiss the smugness right off her face.

It must show on her face, because Helena’s eyes flicker, the pride of victory replaced by something like hunger, and the rod clatters to the floor. “Dinah,” she says, voice low and rough and her hands trembling slightly as they hover mere inches from Dinah’s skin, and Dinah’s never been so grateful in her life that for once, it’s just the two of them in the gym. For a moment she’s frozen on the floor, drowning in the intensity of Helena’s gaze and the weight of Helena pressed against her hips, and Dinah thinks _finally, finally_ —

And the moment is shattered by the sudden blare of sirens throughout the base. The change is instantaneous as they both slide effortlessly into pilot mode, and Dinah doesn’t even have time to mourn the loss of _what could have been_ because Montoya’s voice over the loudspeakers is calling the crew of the _Crossbow Canary_ to stations. Helena shifts her weight and stands, pulling Dinah to her feet, and they’re running, sprinting through the halls and skidding around corners. 

“What have we got?” Dinah calls out to Montoya when they reach the Jaeger bay. 

“Category Four Kaiju — Spector, we’re calling it.”

“Objective?”

“Kill the son of a bitch and stay alive.” Montoya smiles, but it’s strained. “No pressure, you two.”

“You ready for this?” Dinah asks Helena once it’s just the two of them in the cockpit.

Helena’s grin is nearly feral. “Been waiting for a long time.”

“Not anymore.” Dinah slides the helmet over her head, and the console comes to life in front of her.

 _“Commencing neural handshake,”_ and this time, coming together is as natural as breathing.

_“Neural handshake engaged.”_

The bay doors open in front of them, and for the first time, the _Crossbow Canary_ meets daylight. 

They’re ready.

\---

The sea heaves under them as the _Crossbow_ plunges through the surface, spray churning around its metal frame. There’s no need to go deeper, let alone to submerge completely, because the Kaiju — Spector — erupts from the waters with a roar that rattles the Jaeger.Helena and Dinah move in perfect unison, and as the Kaiju lunges forward, it’s met with the massive metal fist of the Jaeger aimed straight at its skull. The Kaiju howls, disoriented, giving them enough time to regroup and bring both arms of the Jaeger down on Spector’s head. This time, though, it’s merely angered by the blow; it rears up and forward, crashing into _Crossbow_ and knocking it backwards into the surf.

“Goddamn it,” Dinah swears. “Plasma cannons at the ready!”

The Kaiju clamps its massive jaws over the Jaeger’s left arm, tugging with enough force to give _Crossbow_ the momentum to rise again, brandishing the plasma gun this time. They struggle, locked together close enough that the Kaiju’s hideous face looms huge in the viewscreen, but then they land a blow, and another, until they have the upper hand.

“Now!” Dinah calls, and Helena doesn’t hesitate, raising the Jaeger’s arm and pointing it straight at the Kaiju’s ribs. Her aim is impeccable — four bolts to the Kaiju’s chest, and it’s stumbling backward, a smoking hole gaping and smoking in the center of its torso. It falls back into the surf and doesn’t move again.

“Hell yeah,” Dinah breathes, meeting Helena’s eyes and sharing a triumphant grin as Montoya’s voice congratulates them over the comms — 

But her voice turns urgent. _“We’re picking up a Kaiju signature, real close. You sure that thing’s dead?”_

“No way it’s still alive,” Dinah replies, any excitement draining quickly away. “We blasted the shit out of it.”

“Dinah, look.” Helena’s voice grabs her attention, and she peers out the viewscreen.

In front of them, the water is churning, breaking in crests as a dark shape lumbers just under the surface — getting closer by the minute.

“Another one? What the hell?”

 _“Your plasma cannons are still recharging,”_ Montoya tells them. 

“Fucking of course they are.” 

_“Backup can’t get there in time.”_

“Then we’ll take care of it on our own.” The confidence in Dinah’s voice is mostly forced, but there’s not much choice. “Moving to intercept now.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, the Kaiju straightens to its full height, and Dinah bites back a curse. The thing is massive, easily twice the size of the _Crossbow,_ and its mouth gapes with an unearthly howl as it draws near.

“Wait for it!” Dinah shouts, and as soon as the Kaiju is nearly on top of them, they move in sync, dodging its advance.

“Now!”

With the Kaiju still caught by its own momentum, the Jaeger seizes it, pushing downward and tearing through its skin — not deep enough, Dinah realizes, to do much more than anger it. The Kaiju wails, twisting and flailing an arm to slam into the Jaeger, right at the cockpit. The impact shakes every bone in Dinah’s body and sets off warning flares across the viewscreen, and it forces the _Crossbow_ back.

The Kaiju sees an opportunity, then, and barrels full-speed at the _Crossbow._ It’s stronger than Spector had been, and _Crossbow_ has taken a beating. They’re on the defensive, playing for time until the plasma cannons recharge, but with every fresh blow, more red warnings flash on the display.

They barely manage to dodge a blow that otherwise could have been fatal, and Dinah knows they’re nearly out of options.

“Any tricks up your sleeve?” she yells at Helena.

“How long until the cannons recharge?”

Dinah is momentarily distracted as she drives the Jaeger’s fist directly into the twisted snout of the Kaiju, stunning it, and then checks the weapons array. “We’ve got enough for one shot. More if we wait.”

To her surprise, Helena calls back, “One shot is enough. On my mark.”

Dinah lifts the arm of the Jaeger and aims it as Helena says, “Now!”

The shot burns a gaping wound in the Kaiju’s chest, but it’s a flesh wound only. The Kaiju stumbles back, and Dinah realizes that that had been Helena’s goal all along — not a killing shot, but distance. 

“Deploy quarrel!” Helena commands, and the system pleasantly confirms, _“Deployed and ready.”_

 _Quarrel?_ Dinah wonders, and then Helena raises her arm and makes a motion like pulling a trigger, and a massive bolt, deadly sharp and crackling with electricity, shoots from the extended arm of the Jaeger. Once again, Helena’s aim is perfect, and the bolt pierces the Kaiju's chest. Vivid blue blood spurts from the wound, pouring into the sea, and the Kaiju howls, blood spattering from its mouth, and staggers back. The _Crossbow Canary_ moves forward, dealing it one last blow across the skull before the Kaiju sinks back, unmoving, on the waves.

“Please tell me it’s fucking dead,” Dinah says into her comms.

 _“It's dead, alright. Back to base,”_ Montoya tells them. _“Great job, you two.”_

“We did it,” Helena says, sounding half-stunned.

“Damn right we did,” Dinah replies. “What the hell kinda bow and arrow-type shit was that, anyway? Never seen that before.”

“It’s a crossbow. Sort of, anyway,” Helena explains, and shrugs almost modestly. “I helped design this Jaeger. Thought it might come in handy.” 

“Pretty impressive,” Dinah tells her, fully honest, and as she shoots Helena a grin, she suddenly remembers where they’d been hours earlier — a memory echoed through the drift in a weird sort of duplication, as Helena recalls the same moment from her own perspective.

Even through the glass faceplate, Dinah can tell that Helena’s blushing furiously, and she bites her lip and fights back a grin. “You heard Montoya,” she says. “Let’s get outta here.”

“Right.” Helena clears her throat, shifting her focus to the task at hand, but despite their best efforts to concentrate on piloting the _Crossbow_ back to base, the image of the training room, of the two of them flushed with exertion, pressed close together, still echoes between them. Not a bad thing, necessarily, but it makes Dinah that much more eager to get back to the base — and she thinks Helena shares that sentiment, judging by the lingering pinkness of her face.

\---

There’s a celebration waiting for them back at the Shatterdome, and even though Dinah’s tired and sweaty from so much time suited up, the cheers that greet them infuse her with a fresh burst of energy. All around, people are congratulating them and clapping them on the back, talking excitedly about the _Crossbow Canary_ ’s maneuvers and successes and pressing plates of food and even plastic cups of some kind of spiked punch into their hands. Dinah can’t even get a free moment to talk to Helena, who’s taking it all in with a look that’s half-bafflement and half-joy. 

“You guys killed it out there!” Harley says once the party’s in full swing, slinging an arm around Dinah’s shoulders. From the looks of it, she’s already helped herself to a fair share of the punch. 

“Thanks, Quinn,” Dinah tells her. “Hey, where’d you find the booze?”

“Montoya’s secret stash,” Harley informs her in a loud whisper. “Shh, don’t say anything.”

“Alright, my lips are sealed.” As if Montoya isn’t going to find out herself. “Great party. Did you set this up?”

Harley looks at her, almost offended. “Of course! My parties are the _best,_ Dinah!” She dances away, managing not to spill a drop of her drink, and Dinah shakes her head in amusement and looks out at the crowd.

From across the room, Helena’s eyes dart up to meet hers, and the memory of their sparring match earlier rushes back, and suddenly that’s all Dinah can think about. She smiles at Helena over the rim of her cup as she downs the rest of her drink, then tilts her head toward the door in a silent question — the message would be clear even without the bond of drifting.

Helena nods and holds up a finger as if telling her to wait, and Dinah knows what she’s thinking — leave separately, a few minutes apart, to avoid suspicion. 

Helena slips through the crowd first, not casting a second look at Dinah, and then she’s gone. Dinah forces herself to stay in place, acting as casual as she can manage; one minute passes, then three, and after five minutes, she can’t take one more goddamn second. She’s waited long enough, after all.

The light is on in Helena’s quarters when Dinah reaches their hall, and she raps lightly on the door, willing the hallway to remain empty. The door swings open, and Helena’s on the other side, eyes wide and dark in her face, and _oh,_ the hunger from earlier is back, shining bright and fierce.

Her hand wraps around Dinah’s wrist and tugs her inside; Dinah kicks the door shut behind them and reaches up on her tiptoes to capture Helena’s mouth with her own, tasting Harley’s shitty punch and something else that she can’t name. 

_Not too fast,_ Dinah reminds herself, because in all the memories of Helena’s life that she’s seen, this never made an appearance. “Is this okay?” she murmurs, pulling back minutely so that she can still feel her lips brush against Helena’s.

Helena swallows hard and nods, her pupils blown wide so that her eyes are dark, dark and endless and gorgeous. “Yes,” she says hoarsely, “Dinah —”

This time Helena leans down, resting one hand on Dinah’s waist — tentatively at first, then firmer — and the other trailing her jawline and tilting Dinah’s face up so, so gently, and this time, the kiss is fiery and all-consuming. Dinah sinks her hand into Helena’s loose curls and closes her eyes, losing herself to the flame.

\---

Helena’s bunk is narrow even for one person, but somehow, there’s enough room for both of them, their bodies fitting against each other seamlessly. It’s late, now, and the base is quiet. The only sound is that of Helena’s soft breathing; Dinah traces a finger along the smooth planes of Helena’s stomach, fitting her hand in the hollow above her hip and brushing her thumb against the skin in lazy circles there. 

Helena sighs at the touch, her hand resting at the small of Dinah’s back, their legs tangled together. She’s quiet; her gaze is unmoving, resting on Dinah as if she’s trying to memorize her.

Dinah feels a peace that she’s never known before. Their touches had been desperate at first, eager and wanting, but then they’d softened, becoming gentle and sweet. Now, Dinah wants nothing more than to drift off to sleep, to stay tucked against Helena’s side until the sun is high in the sky. She presses her lips against the ridge of Helena’s collarbone, then looks up to meet her eyes.

“I should go,” Dinah murmurs, feeling Helena’s breath ghost against her skin. “Before I fall asleep.”

“Okay,” Helena answers sleepily. She shifts, pulling her legs back to her side of the narrow mattress, and she draws her hand back slowly, almost reluctantly. Helena watches Dinah stand, her tired muscles protesting as she stretches and gets dressed. 

Dinah crosses back over to the bed once she’s dressed, unable to leave quite yet; she drops to her knees beside Helena and meets her halfway, kissing her softly. 

“Dinah.” Helena says her name like a prayer, and the look in her eyes is one of quiet awe and a deep wistfulness. “I wish…”

She trails off, but Dinah knows what Helena had been about to say; Dinah feels the same way, after all. _I wish you could stay. I wish things were different. I wish that we knew what tomorrow will bring._ “I know.” She stands, tangling her fingers with Helena’s for a brief moment before moving away, the distance like an ache in her chest. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night,” Helena murmurs, and Dinah takes one last look at her, lean and pale and soft in the darkness, and closes the door behind her. She could live a hundred years or die tomorrow, but never in her life would she regret this, or forget it — the fiery, trailing path of Helena’s fingertips on her skin, the warmth of their bodies pressed together, the sound of her own name on Helena’s lips. It stays with her until she drifts asleep, and in the quiet of her room, before sleep claims her at last, Dinah imagines that Helena’s thinking about it too.

\---

The celebratory mood doesn’t last long; the Kaiju attacks have grown more frequent, and the next one could come at any moment. The consensus is that the frequency will continue to increase, and soon they’ll occur daily, even hourly. 

“We can’t afford to continue a reactive strategy,” Montoya tells them in a meeting of the pilots and head scientists. “It’s unsustainable. But thanks to Dr. Quinn —” and she nods at Harley — “we have an idea that might just be crazy enough to work.”

Dinah catches Helena’s eye, and they grin at the cliche — Montoya’s collection of old action movies is a frequent subject of jokes around the Shatterdome — but their smiles doesn’t last long once Harley starts talking.

“You _drifted_ with one of those things?” Dinah gapes at Harley. 

“You got it!” Harley beams. “Crazy stuff, I’ll tell you. Yeesh, not something I’d want to do again.”

“And you think we can get through the breach using Kaiju DNA?” Helena’s sitting forward, eyebrows drawn forward. 

“You betcha!”

“In theory, yes,” Montoya interrupts. “Now that we know how to get through the breach, thanks to Dr. Quinn’s experiment, our plan of closing the breach through a massive detonation is more viable than ever.”

Under the table, Helena’s hand grips Dinah’s almost hard enough to hurt.

“But that’s the good news.” Montoya looks grim. “The bad news is, the drift went both ways. The Kaiju more than likely got a look at our plans, which means there’s not much time to spare if we’re gonna do this.”

“How long?” Dinah asks.

“We’d go through with it the next time the breach opens. Could be ten minutes from now, or ten weeks. More likely to be the former — sooner, not later.”

There’s a moment of tense silence as they all digest this. 

Helena finally clears her throat. “And we — the _Crossbow Canary_ — would be the ones going into the breach?”

“Has to be that way.” Montoya looks between them. _“Canary_ ’s the only Jaeger with the capabilities to pull it off. If you two are willing…”

Dinah can’t say she relishes the notion of what could be a suicide mission, but she doesn’t hesitate to say, “I’m in. Helena?”

“Of course.”

“It’s settled, then.” Montoya nods. “You’d better start prepping, then. My guess? Tomorrow’s the day.”

Tomorrow. Twenty-four hours until they save the world or die trying.

No pressure.

\---

Even in the darkness, Dinah can see that Helena’s wide awake, the tension in her brow making it obvious that she’s deep in thought.

“Hey,” Dinah says softly, “talk to me, honey.”

Helena shakes her head minutely, eyes still fixed, though unfocused, on the ceiling. “Do you think it will work?” she asks finally. “Montoya’s plan.”

Dinah hums thoughtfully. “I think it’s the best chance we’ve got. Yeah, I think it could work.”

Helena swallows. “What if it doesn’t?”

“Then we keep fighting,” Dinah says simply. “Try again.”

“No, I mean —” Helena turns, looking at Dinah. “If something happens to you, Dinah —” 

“Hey.” Dinah props herself up on one elbow and takes Helena’s hand in her own. “Not gonna happen, alright? Don’t think like that.”

“I can’t lose you too,” Helena whispers, and the look in her eyes is heartbreaking. “I just — I can’t, you know I can’t.”

“Shh, hey.” Dinah presses a kiss to Helena’s forehead. “Baby, we’re gonna do whatever it takes to get the job done. The danger — shit, that’s part of the deal, you know that as well as I do. But you know what? I ain’t letting this go without a fight. You and me, we're a package deal, remember?”

“I remember,” Helena replies softly.

“That’s good.” Dinah closes her eyes, just for a moment, willing herself to hold onto this moment — the softness of Helena’s skin against hers, the slow pulse of their heartbeats in rhythm, the tickle of Helena’s hair on her cheek. “Helena, I wouldn’t trade this for anything. No matter what happens tomorrow.”

The agony of losing a copilot is something Dinah knows well, and something she doubts she could survive again — and yet Dinah would choose the risk a hundred times over for this. Helena is more than worth it.

Helena just looks at her, and for a moment there’s a glint in her eyes that might be tears — and Dinah’s never seen her cry, not even after their first failed drift. But it’s gone in an instant, and Helena just whispers, “Dinah.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dinah tells her, and it’s a promise that burns in her chest with its ferocity — a promise she intends to keep.

\---

Renee’s prediction comes true. The entire base is on high alert all day, anxiety suffocating the air, and just when Dinah thinks she can’t take it any longer, the alarms sound. 

A flurry of frantic activity ensues, but the drills have paid off: within minutes, Dinah and Helena are suited up, stepping through the doors of the Jaeger bay. Montoya meets them there, and she nods approvingly when she sees them ready.

“You know the drill,” she tells them. “Just like we discussed. _Eden Titan_ is running backup.” Montoya looks over them, pride clear in her eyes, and adds, “I have faith in you two.” She steps forward and pulls Dinah into a tight embrace. “Proud of you, kid,” she says quietly, and Dinah brings her arms up to return the hug, holding tight, until Montoya draws away and embraces Helena, who looks startled at first but softens into the touch. 

Montoya’s eyes are suspiciously bright when she releases Helena, but her voice is steady as ever as she calls out, “Everyone listen up!”

There’s a lull as the crew gathers around — hundreds of people falling silent to listen to Montoya’s words.

“Today marks a new day,” she announces, her voice ringing throughout the bay. “All of you have worked tirelessly for this moment, and now the time has come to end this war once and for all. Today — together — we are cancelling the goddamn apocalypse!”

The crowd erupts in cheers, raw energy and anticipation thrumming through the air and lingering even as the crew moves to stations and as Helena and Dinah take their places in the cockpit of the _Crossbow Canary_ while the bay doors open and the airlift commences. 

Montoya’s on the comms, running through the plan once more and going over contingency measures, with Harley popping in occasionally with updates on the readings or words of encouragement. Eventually, there’s nothing left to say, but Montoya and Harley seem to hesitate to sign off. It’s not hard to guess why; after all, the chance that they won’t make it back to base is not insignificant, and Dinah tries not to dwell on the fact that she hadn’t given most of the crew a proper goodbye.

 _Guess we’ll just have to make it back, then,_ she thinks, summoning as much confidence as she can manage. Helena’s poised for action across the cockpit, and she gives Dinah a short nod when their eyes meet.

 _“Approaching the breach site,”_ Montoya tells them. _“Good luck. I’ll see you both back at base.”_

“You got it.” Dinah takes a deep, steadying breath, preparing for battle, and gives Helena a thumbs-up.

The control panel lights up. _“Commencing neural handshake in three — two — one.”_ The familiar blur of images passes through Dinah’s consciousness, but drifting with Helena is second nature now, and the message is quickly followed by, _“Neural handshake engaged.”_

The Jaeger shudders as it hits the surface of the water, sinking down farther and farther into the depths with _Eden Titan_ following behind. 

Soon they’re engulfed by darkness, the only light shining out from the Jaegers’ beams, and it’s eerily calm — until something massive erupts from seemingly nowhere in a swirl of tentacles.

“Brace for impact!” Dinah barely has time to holler before the Kaiju slams into the _Crossbow_ with a jaw-rattling force, knocking it backward against the ocean floor. They’re not down long, though; the console flashes red and green in Dinah’s field of vision as she thrusts her arm forward, deploying the Jaeger’s blades. The Kaiju slams into the right arm of the Jaeger, knocking the blade aside like it’s nothing, but as it turns for a second attack, a downward sweep drives the other blade through its skull in a killing blow.

“Got it!” Dinah calls, and for a moment, it seems like the plan might actually work, if they can haul the still-convulsing carcass to the breach.

But a second Kaiju erupts from the depths, colliding with _Eden Titan_ and forcing it backwards, tumbling off a coastal ledge into darkness. 

“Fuck!” Dinah swears. “ _Eden Titan,_ do you copy?”

The affirmative is faint, crackled by static, and Montoya’s voice cuts it off over the comms. “Dinah, you know your mission! Stay back! _Crossbow_ is nuclear — get her to the breach!”

Dinah meets Helena’s eyes briefly before confirming, “Heading for the breach now.”

It’s slow-going, but the _Eden Titan_ manages to keep the second Kaiju occupied, and even as the console display flashes red warnings about power depletion and declining structural integrity, _Crossbow Canary_ breaks the surface and slogs onward. 

“We’re ending this now!” Dinah grits out into the comms, and then Helena exclaims, “Holy _shit —_ Dinah!”

Looming in front of them, landing with an earthshaking crash, is the biggest Kaiju she’s ever seen — a Category 5, for sure. 

There’s no room for panic, and Dinah weighs a hundred options in the space of a second before calling to Helena, “Rear jets in three — two — _now!”_

They fly forward, straight at the bulk of the creature, leaving behind the carcass of the slain Kaiju. Helena thrusts her arm forward an instant before impact, driving the blade into the Category 5 Kaiju’s mottled chest. The force of the jets pushes the Jaeger forward against the Kaiju, far enough that they fall together over the edge of the breach.

The Kaiju twists and shrieks, a sound that carries through the shell of the Jaeger with an ear-piercing ferocity. It batters the metal body of the Jaeger, dragging its claws down the chestpiece, but its efforts to escape are futile. One look at Helena is enough for Dinah to see the strain on her face as she locks her arm straight out to keep a hold on the Kaiju.

“Hold on, Helena!” Dinah’s voice is nearly drowned out by the roar of air rushing past them, the wails of the dying Kaiju, and the groaning metallic shrieks of the Jaeger as they plummet down, down —

And then there’s silence. Bolts of electricity flicker like lightning around them. It’s like nothing Dinah’s ever seen — strange, massive shapes twist and writhe around them in slow motion, pulsing in vivid shades of blue and purple.

The Kaiju is still struggling, scraping its claws along the viewscreen and leaving deep scratches behind. The _system failure_ message pulses red across the glass — if they don’t shake the Kaiju now that they’re through the breach, it might ruin their shot at escape.

“The exhaust!” Helena grits out, and Dinah understands immediately. She taps out a command on the console, and the rear turbines whir loudly as flames shoot out — searing the skin of the Kaiju and burning straight through its ribs. It lets out a piercing shriek and finally falls away from them into the void. 

An eerie glow suffuses the cockpit as the Jaeger slips further down, sinking through convoluted, colorful structures that almost seem alive. If circumstances were different, it might have been beautiful, in a strange way. 

The blare of alarms through the cockpit ruins the unearthly allure of their surroundings and drives home the dire reality of their circumstances; sparks shower from the ceiling of the cockpit, and water pours in where the metal skin of the Jaeger has crumpled.

 _“Oxygen levels are dropping,”_ Harley reports. _“You gotta get outta there, ladies.”_

 _“She’s right,”_ Montoya cuts in. _“Start the core meltdown and get to the escape pods.”_

“You heard them, Helena, get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Helena insists. “We’re a team, we do this together.”

There’s no time to argue. “Fine. Get ready.” Dinah’s hands fly over the console, but a message pops up onscreen: _Malfunction. Manual override required._

“Shit!” she swears, already scrambling out of her harness. 

_“The trigger’s offline,”_ Harley reports, her usual cheer gone, replaced by anxiety. _“You’re running out of time.”_

“Get out of here!” Dinah hollers at Helena. “I’ll be right behind you!”

She doesn’t wait for a response. Dinah slides through the access hatch into the belly of the Jaeger; the air is smoky, lit by an eerie red glow, and she nearly loses her grip and falls into whirring gears that could tear her to shreds in seconds. By some miracle, though, she hauls herself back upright and finds the metal panel she needs to open. It takes nearly all her energy to tug it open, but Dinah perseveres, twisting her arm into the activation mechanism.

“Reactor meltdown initiated,” she calls into the comms. “Core meltdown in t-minus sixty.”

 _“Get out of there, Dinah!”_ Montoya’s voice is crackly with static, and Dinah struggles upright, steadying herself on the wall. The red numbers of the countdown clock sear into her vision, which is going spotty and black at the edges — oxygen deprivation, she realizes fuzzily. She reaches through the access panel, but the cockpit suddenly seems impossibly far — 

And then someone grabs her hands, hauling her up and through the hatch into the cockpit. “Come on, Dinah,” Helena says. “I got you. Just a little further.”

Helena steadies her on her feet, and the sight of her seems to infuse Dinah with new strength, enough for her to make it back to her harness and start the emergency escape process, relying completely on muscle memory, once she sees Helena doing the same. The world becomes a blur of red-orange-black as the escape pod closes around her, and Dinah’s chest burns as she struggles to keep her eyes open. 

_“Fifteen seconds until detonation,”_ Harley tells them, but Dinah’s too tired to reply, and her last sight is of the _Crossbow Canary_ as it shrinks away, tiny compared to the vastness of this alien world.

Then even that fades to black.

\---

Dinah comes to awareness slowly, first registering the gentle bobbing sensation surrounding her, then the soft lapping of waves against the sides of the pod, then the brightness of the sun even through her closed eyelids. 

And then a loud pounding on the glass, inches from her face, and the sound of her name called frantically and distorted through the glass and metal.

Her throat is impossibly dry, too dry for her to respond, and before she can even open her eyes, there’s a quiet hiss and a rush of salty air as the front panel of the escape pod opens.

“Dinah, can you hear me?”

Her helmet is tugged off and lands with a splash in the ocean; hands clasp around her shoulders, easing her upright, and Dinah squints, momentarily blinded by the sunlight. Helena’s face comes into focus — her hair is soaked, eyes frantic with fear.

“Told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” Dinah finally rasps out, wincing at the soreness of her throat, and Helena lunges forward and wraps her in a tight embrace. 

“For a minute I thought —” Helena doesn’t finish, just inhales and tucks her face into the crook of Dinah’s neck.

“Hey,” Dinah says, pulling back to look Helena in the eyes, hands on her shoulders. “I’m right here, baby. We did it. Saved the damn world.”

“We did it.” Helena shakes her head a bit and laughs incredulously. “Now what?”

“I don’t know,” Dinah says honestly. It seems like she’s lived her whole life in the world of Jaegers and Kaijus, and she knows that Helena, who’s spent most of her life focused on the sole aim of becoming a Jaeger pilot, feels the same way. Dinah can barely remember the time before each day, each minute, became a precious and uncertain commodity, before humanity was locked in a cycle of drills and evacuations and half-futile efforts to rebuild crumbled cities. She’s not worried, though — deep inside her, a years-old tension is dissolving, washed away by the sea, pulled into the breach and sealed away forever, and in its place is a tentative, golden hope, growing stronger by the second. 

Dinah clasps her gloved hands around Helena’s and holds on tight. “You and me, right? We’ll figure it out. We’ve got time.” 

There’s a faint droning in the distance, growing louder by the second — helicopters from the Shatterdome, scanning the waves to find them. The sea is calm, peaceful, sunlight reflecting off waves never again to be disturbed by Kaiju or Jaeger. Water stretches to the horizon, deep and seemingly endless, and when Dinah lets go of Helena’s hand, it’s only so that she can draw Helena’s face close to her own. Helena tastes of salt spray from the waves, and her lips are warm and soft as the world narrows until it’s just the two of them on a raft at the beginning of the world. There’s no desperation, not anymore, because finally, _finally_ — they have time, and a future ahead as bright and boundless as the sea, a future that promises rebirth rather than destruction. 

When they pull apart, Helena smiles sweet and crooked and presses a light kiss to the corner of Dinah’s mouth before getting to her feet, balanced despite the swell of the sea beneath them, and extending her hand. Dinah grasps it, and Helena pulls her upright — a gesture that’s become familiar, as natural as breathing — and holds her close.

That’s how the helicopters find them moments later — their foreheads pressed together and hands intertwined as they breathe, alive and safe and together, ready to greet the new day side-by-side. 

And Dinah wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Special shout-out to those of you who aren't familiar with Pacific Rim but gave it a shot anyway — I hope you enjoyed! Work title comes from ["Would That I"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsu5ZZwzFyk) by Hozier.


End file.
